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corazondebeskar-reads · 1 year ago

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well it's love, make it hurt - epilogue

well it's love, make it hurt series

epilogue: I will never make another promise (without you)

series masterlist | prev chapter |

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Words: 4.6k

Summary: You and Din travel in your quest to reunite the baby with his people and to seek out the Tribe.

Warnings: bdsm, d/s dynamics, enthusiastic consent, preestablished safeword etc, dom!din djarin x sub!reader, soft din djarin, din djarin is a good dad, vaginal sex, communication, major life decisions, author plays god with the timelines (sorry), canon adjacent?, canon divergence?, no use of y/n, tooth-rotting fluff, they deserve it, you deserve it

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

9 ABY - Winter

“Alor,” Din says, bowing his head.

“Din Djarin,” she says. “You have an aruetti with you.”

You’ve known her for twenty seconds, and you’re in awe. Her voice is strong and unwavering, demanding attention. And, respectfully, she looks badass. You had never seen another Mandalorian, and from what Din had told you, you assumed they all looked similar.

But she looks every inch a queen.

“She wants to swear the Creed,” Din says.

The Armorer gives you her full attention now, having only spared you a glance before. “Does she wish to speak for herself?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s true. I would like to learn to walk the way of the Mand’alor, if you’ll have me.” You try to keep your spine straight and your head up, not to hide away from the appraising stare.

“Hmm,” she turns her helmet back to Din. “Is this the hunter you spoke of before?”

“Yes, alor. She is a very skilled and honorable fighter.”

“Well,” you interrupt, face heating from his praise. “I don’t know about skilled. I’m not formally trained, but I’d be honored to really learn.”

They both look at you now, and you wish you hadn’t spoken. But if you’re going to do this, you know you can’t allow cowardice to rule any part of you anymore.

And you want this. With or without Din. You’re surprised a little, now that you’re here, and it’s a real possibility, by the ferociousness of your desire.

The first choice you had ever really made for yourself was asking him to work with you. The second was leaving him.

This will be the defining moment for the rest of your life, you think.

She nods. “It is settled. You will continue on your quest to Corvus,” she says to Din. “You,” she turns, “will remain here and train. When he returns, you will be ready to begin an apprenticeship to earn your beskar’gam.”

“I can train her,” Din says, shifting uncomfortably. He didn’t imagine you’d be separated. Not when he’d only just gotten you back.

“No. Paz will train her. You will continue on your mission in the morning.”

Din doesn’t like it. You don’t need him to say it; it’s written in the sharp lines of his shoulders and tapping of his thumb against his thigh. You catch his anxious hand and thread your fingers between his, bringing it up to your lips.

“It’ll be okay,” you say. You’re back on the Crest, though they had offered you both lodging. But given that they were living in a small cave system, there wasn’t likely to be any privacy. And you really wanted some privacy.

Din sighs but uses your linked hands to tug you into his lap. You settle with your thighs spread over him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You press your forehead to his helmet. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

He doesn’t say it, but you know he’s remembering that you promised last time, too. His arms wrap around your waist, bare hands skimming up the back of your shirt.

Even his touch feels sad, so you go in for the kill. “I love you, Din.”

His grasp tightens, the sudden press of his nails drawing a gasp from you. “I love you too, cyare.”

Hearing you say it still makes his heart catch on something sharp and intoxicating. Even after the day you left Batuu, when he finally fucked you in the bunk on the Crest again, right where you belonged, and you had sobbed it over and over while he teased you for hours.

He thinks maybe you need a repeat of that to hold you over while he’s gone. When he says as much, you shudder and rock your hips against him.

“Actually,” he says, sliding his hands to your hips. “You just keep doing that for now.”

It doesn’t take long before you’re practically panting. You’ve shifted so your aching cunt is dragging over the armor on his right thigh, hands clenched in his cowl while you whine.

“What a little slut,” he muses. “Look at you. So desperate you’d fuck anything, huh?”

You shake your head.

“No? If I told you to go get yourself off on the edge of the table, would you do it?”

“Fuck,” you gasp. “Yes, sir.”

“So I’m right, then.”

“No. Wouldn’t f-fuck anything. Just anything you want.”

He moans, hips pushing up and jostling you.

You try to take advantage of it and shift to rub against his crotch, but he tightens his grip and laughs. “Nice try, sweetheart. But I know you’re always desperate for my cock. I want to see you crying to cum just from this.”

He gets his wish soon. You’re already on the edge of begging, and his words just make it worse. “Please,” you whine. “Please just let me have it.”

He withdraws a hand from your shirt and smacks your ass. “I gave you an answer.”

“Ah, fuck, please.”

He can sense the shift in your tone. “Please what, cyar’ika?”

“Please, more.”

Instead of teasing you, he simply shifts you over his lap. He makes sure your cunt can still grind against the edge of his armor before he yanks your pants down over your ass and gives it a hard slap.

“This what you wanted?” He asks, striking you again.

“Yes, please, sir,” you cry, squirming and digging your hands around his calf to hold steady.

He delivers a few more blows and pauses to rub a soothing hand where your skin is already hot. “You beg so prettily. Do it again.”

And there it goes. He grins, feral behind the helmet, as fat tears well up and spill over onto your cheeks.

“Please, please hit me. Please, I’ve been so good. I want to be good.”

He hits hard enough this time that you have to bite your hand to swallow the scream. “You are good,” he murmurs between strikes. “You’re my good girl. I’ve got you.”

He spanks you until the tears run dry. By that time, you’re not squirming or struggling in his grasp. You’ve calmed, floating away in the safety of his cruel, caring hands. Your breathing is deep and easy, though he knows you’re awake by the soft moans.

“Look at the mess you’ve made,” he says, tugging you up by the hair. “Get down and clean it up.”

When you sink to your knees, he can see the faraway look in your eyes and soft contentment in the slight upturn of your lips. You lean forward and obediently lick his thigh plate clean of your arousal, eyes on him the whole time.

“Fuck, pretty girl. C’mere, I need your cunt.”

He’s not sure you’ve ever been this deep in subspace before. You don’t jump and scramble to obey, but lick your lips clean and slowly climb up into his lap, holding onto his shoulders carefully as he peels your pants off the rest of the way. You watch as he pulls his cock out with glazed eyes and an open, aching mouth.

He considers letting you suck it for a moment, given how you’re looking at him like a sweet to be devoured. But he runs a finger through your dripping folds, and the low keen it draws from you changes his mind.

You scoot forward when he taps your leg, looking right into the visor as you hover over him.

He gives you a nod, and you sink down slowly, shoulders curling back and eyes rolling closed as you take your fill. He brings a hand up to your neck, and you lean your head back, arching to give him better access.

There are no words to be said, now. No teasing or taunting, no begging or crying. He tightens the hand around your throat when he starts to fuck up into you, his other hand holding you steady by the hip.

Your lips part, tingling as he slowly cuts off the blood flow. Soft, wavering gasps leak out, but you couldn’t make a sound if you wanted to. He brings his other hand to your face and slides his thumb into your open mouth.

You close your lips around it, trying to suck even though it feels like you’re struggling for air. He curls the other fingers around your jaw, releasing your throat only to drag that hand down to your clit and start to unravel you.

You whine when he pulls his thumb from your mouth, only for it to stutter when he pinches your nipple between his finger and the wet digit. He tugs on it, his breath catching as you arch and press your chest into his hand, not to run from the pain but to offer more, more, more. To pour yourself out in his basin and let him soak you up as he pleases.

It’s a gift he could never refuse, so he lets up on his soft strokes to your clit and indulges in the soft moans and sweet cries you make when he torments your breasts, and the way you get tighter and wetter around him.

A particularly cruel pinch finally tears a plea from you on a whisper.

“Yes,” he growls, and holds you to him through your climax by the tight clamp of his fingers on your nipples. The pain that blossoms when you jerk against his grip uncontrollably pushes you into a second orgasm from the crest of the first.

“Fuck yes, give it to me. Give me everything,” he huffs, bucking into your spasming cunt. When your cries turn a little sharp, he eases up and rubs his thumbs soothingly over your aching nipples before pulling you against his chest.

You cling onto him, face buried in his cowl as he bounces you, cock buried deep with each staccato thrust.

After he fills you, he keeps you there, seated on his cock, with his cum slowly leaking as he softens. He cups your head where it rests against him and savors the way the silent ship is filled with peace.

You’re blinking sleepily, but he doesn’t have the willpower to move to the bunk, content to stay here on the bench with you dozing in his arms.

Your bodies regret it in the morning, but it’s hard to care when the warmth and safety overpower the aches in your neck and back. You share a rinse in the refresher, chaste until it isn’t. After the kid wakes up, you play with him for a few minutes until the sun is finally breaking the horizon, and you know you have to go.

Din offers to walk you in, to stay until you’re settled, but you shake your head. At the top of the ramp, you stop him with a hand to his chest. You slide both hands up to his shoulders, and he settles his on your waist, bringing your foreheads together.

While he’s distracted with the kiss, you unlatch his cloak from around his shoulders. He pulls back, head tilted.

“What’re you up to?”

You grin, folding your prize in your arms. “Just helping myself to a blanket.”

He laughs and pulls you in close, savoring the feeling and hoping it holds him over until he can return.

“Be safe,” you whisper, trying not to tear up.

“Kick Paz’s ass,” he whispers back.

It works. The laughter chases away your sadness, and you press a kiss to his helmet before turning to walk down the ramp.

When you get to the mouth of the cavern, you turn and wave. Din has the baby in his arms, both of them waving back as the ramp raises.

You thought it would be harder. But you smile while you watch the Crest ascend. Your chest feels tight but warm, and you turn to face your new adventure.

Three Weeks Later

You’re sitting on the floor of the large cavern, the sandy floor cushioning your aching tailbone. Your flightsuit is drenched in sweat beneath the weighted flak vest you’ve been living in.

Technically, Paz said to wear it during training, but you’ve been trying to acclimate to what life will be like with armor. He hasn’t commented, but you think he approves of your choice.

His booming voice echoes in the chamber. “Two minutes and we begin again.”

You nod, still trying to regulate your breathing. You sip carefully from the canteen and wonder, as you do with every spare moment, how Din and the baby are. If they’ve found a Jedi. Or a jetii, you suppose.

“What does cyar’ika mean?” you say suddenly. Paz has been teaching you Mando’a while you train, but it hasn’t occurred to you to ask.

You would have rather asked Din, but you forgot your commlink on the Crest. It’s made the days a little harder than you anticipated.

Paz laughs. Your face and ears burn, and you wish you hadn’t said anything.

“Is that what my vod calls you?” he says.

“Sometimes.” You do not like the tone of his voice.

“I’m not laughing at you, vod’ika. Just at how soft he’s gone.”

You scowl.

“It means sweetheart,” he finally explains.

You burn even hotter.

“What about cyare?” You ask, turning your humiliation into determination. And your brain backpedals. “Vod’ika?”

“Cyare is the base for cyar’ika. What do you think it means?”

“Oh! So… I’m going to guess ‘big sweetheart’ isn’t it. It’s like a more serious nickname?’”

“Exactly. It’s probably closest to ‘beloved.’ And then vod’ika would be…?”

“Little brother? Or, well, little sister?”

“Very good,” he says. His praise warms you, but in a much different way than Din’s.

You think back over the words. “Oh,” you say.

“What?”

You hadn’t meant to be speaking to Paz or out loud at all. “You called me vod’ika.”

Somehow, you find that more surprising than the revelation that Din has been calling you his beloved.

“Yes,” he says.

“I haven’t sworn the Creed yet.”

“No matter. You will. And Djarin is my vod, no matter how irritating he is, so anyone who is to be his riduur is my vod, too.”

“Riduur?”

“Spouse. Wife,” he says.

That slows your brain like molasses. “I don’t know about that,” you say with a forced chuckle.

“Regardless. You’re doing well and will make a strong addition to our tribe. This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” you can’t help but agree.

“Enough resting. Pick up your weapon,” he says gruffly, readying himself to spar with you once more.

You grab the bevii’ragir and use it to pull yourself to your feet.

It’s late afternoon when your lesson is interrupted.

“I call next challenger.”

You turn immediately to the voice like a flower to the sun, grinning and dodging Paz’s spear.

Din meets you halfway and pulls you to him. You slide your arms under his to wrap up around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his beskar’ta before burying your face in his cowl.

“You take good care of my girl, vod?”

“Your girl can take care of herself,” Paz rumbles, suddenly close. He puts a hand on Din’s shoulder near where you’re clinging to him and shakes a little before pulling back.

“Yeah, she can,” Din says, voice thick with adoration. You lift your head to meet his and realize the next time you do this, the next time you share a mirshmure’cya, you’ll be in a helmet.

As if he can tell what you’re thinking, he asks if you’re ready. He’s addressing you, but Paz answers.

“She’s been ready. You’re late.”

Din watches the hopeful smile blossom across your face. Not the one that makes him want to grab you by the shoulders and beg you to stop being surprised by being loved, but one that tells him you might just be starting to understand.

“Did you go easy on him, ner kar’ta?” he teases, thrilled to be rewarded by your laugh.

He leaves your side only to go collect Grogu from the Armorer, who was fitting him with beskar chainmail forged from the spear he brought home.

They find you on the shore after. The kid toddles over excitedly, eager to show off his new, shiny shirt. You coo over it and praise him, but the smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

He sits down next to you, watching as Grogu torments the tiny, shimmering purple fish in the shallows. “You know,” he starts.

“I’m not changing my mind,” you interrupt. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous, but I want this. It’s… it’s a good fear, I think.”

“Spoken like a true Mandalorian,” he says. “Courage can’t exist without fear.”

“You sound like him when you say that,” you tease.

He rolls his eyes, helmet to the sky for a moment. “We did grow up together.”

“I know. He said you were a parasite that never left him alone.”

“I should have come home faster. Leaving you with him was a mistake,” he grumbles. He fills you in about the village, then. About Elsbeth and Ahsoka Tano. About her refusal to train Grogu.

“She can’t train him because he loves you too much? That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I don’t want to be an obstacle for him.”

“He’s a baby! He needs a father far more than he needs whatever lonely life they live.”

He loves the sentiment. He does. But you both know he’ll continue on this quest until it’s completed, one way or another. And you know you’ll follow him wherever it takes him.

At dusk, as you kneel in the shallows, the pull of the gentle waves sink you into the sand bit by bit. It’s not a long ceremony; it’s perfectly Mandalorian in its succinct and practical nature. But you can feel the heaviness. It pulls you down faster than the water, and you let it fill the gaps between the sinew of your ribcage.

When your alor places the helmet upon you, the first things you see through your new eyes are Din and the baby, waiting for you to come back to shore.

“This is gonna take some getting used to,” you say as you shift around, trying to figure out the right arrangement of pillows to support your neck in spite of the helmet.

“What if it didn’t have to?” Din says.

“What do you mean?”

“Marry me.”

You sit up and turn to face him. “You're serious?”

He sits up and switches on the light. “Completely.” For the first time, he has no idea what you’re feeling or thinking. You’re holding very still but without seeing your face… this must be how you felt all this time.

“You’re serious,” you whisper. Your modulator barely picks it up.

“I am. Marry me, cyare.”

“Okay.”

“‘Okay’? That’s it?”

You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t translate. You haven’t adapted to exaggerating your body language yet. “Yes, Din. Of course.”

“Right now.”

“Right now?!”

“Did Paz teach you anything about riduurok?”

“Just that it means marriage.”

“I ask him to do one thing,” he grumbles.

“Hang on, what? You asked Paz to teach me about Mandalorian marriages?”

“Yes, that shabuir.”

“Oh. You—you actually planned this,” you say. “This isn’t impulsive. You planned on proposing to me in bed.”

“I planned on proposing to you once we were home. You’re the one who went to bed right away.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, right now. Marry me right now.” You can’t believe you’re saying it. Or maybe you can. Because it’s Din. It’s always been Din. “How does it work?”

“It’s just us. There are vows. And then, we share ourselves with one another. Then we can know each other completely.”

“Teach me.”

So he does. He shows you the words and their meanings; he shows you the ways he’s been giving you his heart and making room for yours.

You leave the words open on the datapad so you can see them. Somehow, you’ve ended up in his lap, inches from each other. The vows are easy, the decision so painfully obvious you don’t have a single doubt. The Mando’a tumbles from your lips slowly, in harmony with him.

Mhi solus tome. Of course you are one together. That’s never been a question.

Mhi solus dar’tome. It had been true even when it wasn’t. You were one while apart, if only in that you held each other in your hearts for all those years. But it had been enough.

Mhi me’dinui an. There wasn’t a thing between you left unshared now.

Mhi ba’juri verde. Din may have his doubts about Grogu’s future, but you know he loves him. Unconditionally, eternally. And maybe, someday, you’ll share that love with more.

You rip your helmet off without hesitation. It’s easy still, for you.

Later, you’ll grow accustomed to its heft and the way only your aliit can see the you beneath. Later, you’ll appreciate better what it takes for Din to do the same.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “You saw me three hours ago.”

“You’re beautiful every time I see you.”

Your face burns, but you don’t have to be embarrassed for long. In fact, you stop thinking about it immediately as he raises his hands to the bottom of his helmet.

You squeeze your eyes shut automatically.

He sees you once he’s removed it and huffs a breath. “Cyare, open your eyes.”

“It feels wrong,” you say.

“Ner riduur. You are mine and I am yours. Please open your eyes.”

You do. Your heart is thundering, a painful clench in your chest. You lean back, cupping his face in your hands.

No words come. All you can do is stare, lips parted, greedily taking in every piece of him. Your fingers follow your eyes, brushing through his dark curls and tracing the curve of his cheek.

He’s barely breathing, staring up at you with big, beautiful brown eyes, wetness starting to well.

“Din,” you breathe.

“Hi,” he says softly, cheeks flushing.

You gasp, lips curling into a pleased grin. “You’re so cute when you blush.”

He’s never felt so unmoored. The flush spreads as he tries to bear your focus.

“I thought it would be weirder. To see your face,” you say, running a thumb over his chapped lips, fingers stroking the scruff of his chin. “Your helmet has always been you, to me. I was afraid this would be like seeing a stranger. But it’s not. I know you. Ni kar’tayli darasuum.”

He whispers it back, pressing a kiss to your thumb before leaning against the wall.

Your brow furrows, and you fix him with an outraged glare.

“What?” he asks, and you almost get distracted by the way his eyes widen and mouth opens with bewilderment.

“You used to call me ner kar’ta.”

“I still do.”

“No, I mean, you started calling me your heart so long ago.”

“You weren’t ready. But I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t change that it was true.” He sees the sadness creeping in and cups your cheek. “It was worth the wait, ner kar’ta. Would you like your gift now?”

You know he’s trying to distract you, but it works anyway. “A gift? For what?”

“For our riduurok, silly girl.”

It’s your turn to flush, ears burning. “That’s not fair. I didn’t know I was going to have a husband to get a gift for.”

He shakes his head, a fond smile on his face. A smile you can see. It’s a world-shattering feeling.

He rifles around for a moment and then offers you something shiny and very familiar.

The pauldron is unpainted silver, the same as his, with a mudhorn on the front. It’s shaped a little differently, a little longer and narrower. A better fit for your shoulder.

You reach out and run your fingers over the signet.

“Din,” you choke through the tight grip of your throat. “But… I didn’t earn it yet.”

“But I did. We’re a clan of three, now. As my riduur, this is yours to bear.”

You almost start to sob, but the tears are held off by a sudden realization.

“Did everyone know we were getting married but me?”

He shrugs. “Guess so.”

Your indignant laugh breaks into another sob, tears finally falling free.

He wipes them away with his thumbs, the pauldron abandoned on the bed. “Hey, save those tears for later,” he murmurs.

It has the desired effect. Your eyes widen, and your hips grind against him just a fraction. “You know how most people celebrate a marriage?”

“We aren’t most people, cyar’ika. We’re Mandalorians.”

It’s still weird to hear yourself referred to as a Mandalorian. But it sinks under your skin and spreads euphoria through your veins. It feels right, like your whole life you’ve been following a starmap to this moment.

“Well, how do we celebrate a marriage then?”

He smirks. “We fuck.”

“Right now?” you ask, making a show of batting your lashes and delighting in the way his eyes darken and lips part. “Please, sir?”

You could always sense the change, before. The way the air shifted. But it was another thing entirely to watch him become the predator. There’s a glint in his eye, a curve to his lips that wracks you with shivers.

His hand slides up to wrap around your throat. “Yeah, sweetheart? You want to get fucked by your riduur? Going to let me take what’s mine?”

“Oh fuck,” you whisper. Your heart is pounding, and from the way his smirk grows, you know he can feel it under the clench of his fingers. They twitch a little tighter, and you’re already feeling lightheaded.

He eases up after a moment, withdrawing his hand just to bring it across your face in a harsh slap. “Have you forgotten how to be my good girl? Answer me when I speak to you.”

When you open your mouth to try, all that comes out is a moan. He slaps you again, grabbing you roughly by the throat after and pulling you closer.

“Yes,” you finally gasp, “yes, please, sir.”

“Please, what?”

“Please fuck me. Please take what’s yours.”

“And what’s mine to take?”

“Everything.”

His lips press against yours in a crash of teeth and flesh. He bites his way into your mouth, pushing you down on your back with the force of his kiss. Your legs are still wrapped around his hips and his cock presses against your panties.

“Wait,” he gasps into your mouth. “I have another gift.”

“Can’t it wait? Can’t you let me get you something first?”

“No, cyare, this isn’t a present for my riduur.”

“No?” Your voice has gone small, soft.

“No, sweetheart. It’s for my pretty little slut.”

You flush, and he sits up, reaching over to the shelf for a box. Inside is a thin chain that almost looks like beskar.

You watch him watch you with starving eyes, a hunger that seeps into your skin where his gaze lands. “But I like my collar,” you whisper.

“I know, I do too. This is a little different. It’s thin enough to lay under your cowl without being seen.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to wear it all the time. But when you want to, when you’ll let me have you outside of this, I’d like you to.”

It goes against that rule, your one big rule, from so long ago. Nothing outside the ship could come back in, and vice versa.

You find it doesn’t bother you, now. Not if you can have that little reminder, not if you can feel his love physically all the time.

You know he’d never take advantage, never try to control you in a fight. He didn’t need to, anyway, not with the way you moved and worked as one.

“Yes, sir.”

😭thank you, thank you, thank you, I love you. see you on dec. 21 for the Life Day Special ft. our favorite clan of three.

*title from "Set Phasers to Stun" by Taking Back Sunday

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fic #din djarin x f!reader #mando x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #mando x you #dom din djarin #make it hurt verse #din djarin fic

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sterekmpreg · 2 years ago

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I feel like Derek knocked Stiles up before he left for the FBI training.

I love when people ask me things!😩 Thank you!💕

Oh absolutely, but Derek made damn sure to claim Stiles as his before he left. They’d call daily and after about 2 months of being away Stiles starts complaining like, “idk why I’m so fucking light headed all the time”, “I swear to god this stomach bug has had to of been passed around more than Abi from criminology”, or “why am I so fucking bloated all the damn time!”

Of course Derek, having not much knowledge of mates or mating but the basics, doesn’t really understand either but he can fell the pull of Stiles discomfort through the bond after 3 months apart. So when Derek finally has enough free time lined up with Stiles and they planed on spending personal time together at Derek’s when Stiles flew back to Beacon Hills for the week, while only having one day of online assignments in the mix.

And so when Derek looks Stiles up and down at the airport with a funny look, Stiles pushes it off as Derek teasing him for being a pain in the ass about being sick. He doesn’t assume Derek is confused as to why he could hear a third heartbeat or why Stiles scent had gone sweet. Derek almost thinks he’s lost his mind.

But oh boy, Uncle Creeper Peter understands perfectly clear when the bonded pair walk through the Front doors of the Hales property. The elder wolf nearly chokes on his tea and stares wide at the couple. “I told you he was coming for the week, Peter. Don’t even start,” Derek warns with a roll of his eyes. Peter sets his tea down with a “mhm” and taps his fingers along the counter top. “While I am aware that your playmate was going to be here this week, I, for one; was not told you had begun multiplying with him.”

Derek and Stiles both cocked their heads to the side and looked strangely at the man in front of them. Peter throws his hands up with a wide smile and cheers out, “You’re starting the new generation of Hales! Congratulations, boys!” They both paled. Was that even possible? Because HELL if they knew!

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manamrazinaqvi · 4 months ago

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Deepest condolences on the Martrydom of Rasool Allah ﷺ

Amir al-Mu'minin Imam Ali ibn Abi Talibع said:

"When the Prophet ﷺ died his head was on my chest, and his [last] breath blew over my palms and I passed it over my face. I performed his [funeral] ablution, may Allah bless him and his descendants, and the angels helped me. The house and the courtyard were full of them. One party of them was descending and the other was ascending. My ears continually caught their humming voice, as they invoked Allah's blessing on him, till we buried him in his grave. Thus, who can have greater rights with him than I during his life or after his death?

Therefore depend on your intelligence and make your intentions pure in fighting your enemy, because I swear by Him who is such that there is no god but He, that I am on the path of truth and that they [the enemy] are on the misleading path of wrong. You hear what I say, and I seek Allah's forgiveness for myself and for you."

(Nahjul Balagha, Sermon 196)

#islam #muslim #shia #ahlulbayt #imam ali #mola ali #prophet #prophet muhammed pbuh

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 4 months ago

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Abraham Marries Keturah

1 Abraham took another wife, whose name was Ketu′rah. 2 She bore him Zimran, Jokshan, Medan, Mid′ian, Ishbak, and Shuah. 3 Jokshan was the father of Sheba and Dedan. The sons of Dedan were Asshu′rim, Letu′shim, and Le-um′mim. 4 The sons of Mid′ian were Ephah, Epher, Hanoch, Abi′da, and Elda′ah. All these were the children of Ketu′rah. 5 Abraham gave all he had to Isaac. 6 But to the sons of his concubines Abraham gave gifts, and while he was still living he sent them away from his son Isaac, eastward to the east country.

The Death of Abraham

7 These are the days of the years of Abraham’s life, a hundred and seventy-five years. 8 Abraham breathed his last and died in a good old age, an old man and full of years, and was gathered to his people. 9 Isaac and Ish′mael his sons buried him in the cave of Mach-pe′lah, in the field of Ephron the son of Zohar the Hittite, east of Mamre, 10 the field which Abraham purchased from the Hittites. There Abraham was buried, with Sarah his wife. 11 After the death of Abraham God blessed Isaac his son. And Isaac dwelt at Beer-la′hai-roi.

Ishmael’s Descendants

12 These are the descendants of Ish′mael, Abraham’s son, whom Hagar the Egyptian, Sarah’s maid, bore to Abraham. 13 These are the names of the sons of Ish′mael, named in the order of their birth: Neba′ioth, the first-born of Ish′mael; and Kedar, Adbeel, Mibsam, 14 Mishma, Dumah, Massa, 15 Hadad, Tema, Jetur, Naphish, and Ked′emah. 16 These are the sons of Ish′mael and these are their names, by their villages and by their encampments, twelve princes according to their tribes. 17 (These are the years of the life of Ish′mael, a hundred and thirty-seven years; he breathed his last and died, and was gathered to his kindred.) 18 They dwelt from Hav′ilah to Shur, which is opposite Egypt in the direction of Assyria; he settled over against all his people.

The Birth and Youth of Esau and Jacob

19 These are the descendants of Isaac, Abraham’s son: Abraham was the father of Isaac, 20 and Isaac was forty years old when he took to wife Rebekah, the daughter of Bethu′el the Aramean of Paddan-aram, the sister of Laban the Aramean. 21 And Isaac prayed to the Lord for his wife, because she was barren; and the Lord granted his prayer, and Rebekah his wife conceived. 22 The children struggled together within her; and she said, “If it is thus, why do I live?” So she went to inquire of the Lord. 23 And the Lord said to her,

“Two nations are in your womb, and two peoples, born of you, shall be divided; the one shall be stronger than the other, the elder shall serve the younger.”

24 When her days to be delivered were fulfilled, behold, there were twins in her womb. 25 The first came forth red, all his body like a hairy mantle; so they called his name Esau. 26 Afterward his brother came forth, and his hand had taken hold of Esau’s heel; so his name was called Jacob. Isaac was sixty years old when she bore them.

27 When the boys grew up, Esau was a skilful hunter, a man of the field, while Jacob was a quiet man, dwelling in tents. 28 Isaac loved Esau, because he ate of his game; but Rebekah loved Jacob.

Esau Sells His Birthright

29 Once when Jacob was boiling pottage, Esau came in from the field, and he was famished. 30 And Esau said to Jacob, “Let me eat some of that red pottage, for I am famished!” (Therefore his name was called Edom.) 31 Jacob said, “First sell me your birthright.” 32 Esau said, “I am about to die; of what use is a birthright to me?” 33 Jacob said, “Swear to me first.” So he swore to him, and sold his birthright to Jacob. 34 Then Jacob gave Esau bread and pottage of lentils, and he ate and drank, and rose and went his way. Thus Esau despised his birthright. — Genesis 25 | Revised Standard Version (RSV) Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyright © 1946, 1952, and 1971 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. All rights reserved. Cross References: Genesis 2:11; Genesis 10:15; Genesis 12:2,3 and 4; Genesis 15:15; Genesis 16:15-16; Genesis 17:20; Genesis 21:14; Genesis 22:23; Genesis 23:8; Genesis 24:35-36; Genesis 24:67; Genesis 26:1; Genesis 27:1; Genesis 27:3; Genesis 27:36; Genesis 32:3; Genesis 38:27; Deuteronomy 21:16-17; Judges 8:24; 1 Samuel 10:22; 2 Kings 4:38-39; 1 Chronicles 1:30; 1 Chronicles 1:32-33; 1 Chronicles 5:19; Isaiah 60:6; Matthew 1:2; Acts 7:8; Romans 9:10; Romans 9:12; Hebrews 11:9; Hebrews 12:16

Genesis 25 Bible Commentary - Matthew Henry (concise)

#Abraham #Abraham remarries #Keturah #death of Abraham #the descendants of Ishmael #Jacob #Esau #Esau sells his birthright #Genesis 25 #Book of Genesis #Old Testament #RSV #Revised Standard Version Bible #National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America

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cloudycaffeinatedcryptid · 1 year ago

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Let’s have Nick bullying hours! (Or just talk about him without bullying, but how could we possibly??) How do you think he ended up in this job, cooking at a camp in New York, all the way from Australia? What’s the weirdest shit he did over the summer? If we switched someone else out for him as the wolf bait, who should it be and what would he do in their place?

gods please, i love bullying this weirdo

so i do think a lot about how he got here & i have a minor hc that his parents have a pretty demanding job with cushy salaries & he moved in maybe middle school/early high school (bc he has NO clue how to talk to Humans, or maybe he was homeschooled). if Jacob misses the qte to catch his phone, Nick is immediately like "i'll pay for that, im so sorry". obviously he SHOULD, he broke it, why does he do this, but idk it just sticks with me. i would never risk someone else's property, ESP bc i could never afford to replace it if i fucked up. idk. Nick is fucking weird. anyway so i think his parents moved to New York for their job & he's breaking out of his shell, going to camp with other young adults his age

over camp, he's a fucking nightmare. at least ten kids are in on a bet that he's an alien. two others are convinced he's possessed. sometimes he just stands over whatever he's preparing for dinner, completely still, staring at the food without blinking. it doesn't even look like he's breathing. five minutes later, he's totally fine. he sings different words to the camp song every time & it's never the right ones. sometimes he eats raw onion when he's chopping it up. he's never tasted sweet potato. he also stores jars of marinara in the freezer. one counselors swears to god they saw him snap a twig in half between his teeth during a nature walk & another one says he ate a whole acorn

if we could wolf-swap someone, i do think it would be interesting to actually see infected!Abi. the conflict between her, Nick & Emma would've meant a lil more maybe if instead of getting pissy, whiny, aggressive Nick, we could get choices & steadily see Abi get more forceful about if he rlly likes her, asking Kaitlyn why she made that dare when she KNEW what would happen, starting to speak up for herself before it gets too far & she turns (& decapitates nick <3). maybe that's basic but both of those characters felt kind of wasted so :( swapies :) also i feel like Abi should've gotten an opportunity to grow more than just "nervous & unsure & hiding" beyond choosing to either shoot or die

in her place, Nick for sure wouldn't shoot, he's a bitch. (just kidding. kinda.) but honestly i don't even know what he would do. Abi doesn't get to do much but hiding the storm shelter doesn't seem like his thing either. if Emma's in the van, all four of them prolly go to the scrapyard together, which kind of changes the whole thing

#the cool thing is i can just say things & then believe them #sorry i didnt have anything funny for the last one :(#plz smg give me werewolf abi i want it #nick is such a little freak i wanna remove his head #to fix him :(#the quarry #ask moth

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downforthegas · 7 months ago

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I had some pretty uhhhh nasty WH dreams last night

Cw: Major fart talk lol

First one I had, I was looking at some really hot fart fetish art (there was big naked butts with brown clouds and that's all that mattered🥴🥴🥴). But one of them was sketches of Ju//lie having sex with Wa//lly while she's ripping ass. Like her and Wa//lly aren't really naked, and you can't see it, but you could tell they're were doing the nasty (really nasty hehe). I remember Ju//lie being a power bottom and looking at Wa//lly in a passionate way while farting. And Wa//lly looked like he was really enjoying getting farted on hehe (idk why, the idea of Wa//lly having a fart fetish has me feeling some type of way...)

The second one omg idk if I can look at How//dy (or any character) properly rn like I'm so ashamed I even had this dream. I remember the girl neighbors all farting together in the same room, their butts facing the camera (well, my pov). And then they guy neighbors were doing it, like they were having a big fart contest. They also had their pants down so everyone's butt was out and everyone, even Wa//lly and Fra//nk were farting like the were built like Ba//rn//aby 🥴🥴🥴🥴 and then we get to How//dy.

Now I know in the playfellowxxx community, most people have headcanoned How//dy having two dicks, but my brain came up with something so weird and wild and so hot and idk how no one else has thought of this. In my dream, How//dy had two asses (four butt cheeks, one connected to each leg) and three buttholes!!! Omfg and they were farting at three different lengths, pitches, and volumes (and I'm hoping different smells). And god those cheeks were so fat and green and fuzzy and, god, he was waving away the stink from his butts, and he even made a comment about those farts. "Gee, it's almost like these things have minds of their own!" And I swear Ba//rn was like "Hehe, you think that's bad, wait till you hear this." I sadly don't think I got to see Ba//rn fart in my dream.

but man it was wild. I had never had a WH fart dream before, but it was so hot, god I hope I have another one soon... hopefully with more of Wa//lly brapping... or even being into braps now that my brain brought it up

#eproctophilia #playfellowxxx #gassyfellowxxx

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vittoriaisfuckingpathetic · 9 months ago

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kissed, tear-stained red

rated E | read it on ao3 | 3.1k words

cw: dacryphilia, overstimulation, mommy kink, pwp

“John,” Abigail said softly. “Do you want to talk about it?” John, for his part, still had his face buried in his hands, unwilling to look at her. His cheeks were flushed pink and warm against his palms. “No. God, no, please. Just forget you heard anything,” he begged, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Abigail placed her palm atop of his, running her thumb over his knuckle. “I’m not mad,” she promised. Finally, that coaxed John into moving his hands, at least slightly. // John accidentally lets a secret fetish slip. Much to his surprise, Abigail is more than willing to indulge. Modern!Johnigail with completely shameless smut.

Things had been going great at the beginning of the evening. After going on a date to the cinema, Abigail and John had ended up back at her apartment. They quickly ended up in her bed, as was the usual with their dates. On Abigail’s end, everything was seemingly good. John was pliant beneath her, shirtless and practically whining into her mouth as she palmed him through his black jeans. Metaphorically and literally wrapped around her fingers.

But then, without warning, he had whimpered “Mommy,”

It was so quiet she wasn’t even sure if she’d heard it properly.

After the long-kept secret had tumbled from John’s mouth, Abigail had froze. Really, it was his nightmare scenario. The two now sat in an uncomfortable quietness, Abigail still on top of him, and to make matters worse, he was still semi-hard.

“John,” Abigail said softly after a few more moments of silence. Frankly, she was slightly worried — because for the last five months they’d been dating, she’d never seen her boyfriend so humiliated. “Do you want to talk about it?”

John, for his part, still had his face buried in his hands, unwilling to look at her. His cheeks were flushed pink and warm against his palms. “No. God, no, please. Just forget you heard anything,” he begged, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. “I didn’t mean it. Okay— just, please don’t be upset,”

Abigail placed her palm atop of his, running her thumb over his knuckle. “I’m not mad,” she promised, meaning every word.

Finally, that coaxed John into moving his hands, at least slightly. “I…” How could she not be? He half expected her to run for the hills. Hell, he wouldn’t have even blamed her. “You sure?”

“Mhm,” Abigail replied. She briefly leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I swear it.” When she leaned back up, he could see the twinkle in her eyes.

John finally pried his hands off his face, placing them shyly at his sides. “You don’t think it’s…” he huffed, words never really being his strong suit, “I dunno, a little perverted?”

Abigail’s compassionate expression did not change. “No. Why would it be?”

“Well,” he started, accompanied by a humorless laugh. But he trailed off, because he didn’t quite have an answer.

“John,” she said his name gently, but firmly. It succeeded in gaining his attention. “I’m not upset by it, I promise. I wouldn’t dream of makin’ fun of you for something like that.”

If anything, Abigail saw this as something of an opportunity to open him up a little more. She wouldn’t have thought it when she had first met him or even when they first started dating, but sexually, John was quite reserved. It was like he was constantly holding his true desires back; that wasn’t to say it wasn’t enjoyable for her — it still was. John was eager to please. He was easily controlled, and keened for her praise. He fell into a submissive role so beautifully.

But there was something that he seemed to be holding back, almost as if he was too caught up in his own headspace.

“I know you wouldn’t make fun,” John murmured. “It’s just… God, Abi, it’s so embarrassing.” he was still avoiding eye contact with her.

She smiled encouragingly. “You don’t have to be embarrassed around me,” she replied, reaching to tangle her hair in his raven locks. He leaned into her touch with a shudder. “If you want to call me that, I’m more than okay with it.”

“...Okay, darlin’, okay.” He answered her quietly after a few moments, seemingly accepting of this. He grasped her free wrist and brought it to his lips, soft kisses meant only for her.

She tucked a flyaway hair behind his ear. “You’re still hard,” she pointed out, trying to keep her tone light. “Do you want to keep going? You won’t be disappointin’ me if you wanna stop.”

John sighed, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Color?” She prompted. It had been her idea to establish the stoplight system into their sexual encounters, after it had gotten a bit too intense one time.

His hazel eyes locked with hers of cool blue. “Green. I’m good, I’m good, I just… got caught up thinkin’.”

With that simple word of consent, she slipped back into a role of dominance effortlessly. She tilted her head. “Oh? Tell me what you’re thinking about,” Her tone made it sound like a suggestion, but there was an underlying power to her words. He knew it was an instruction.

His breath hitched. “I, well, I… was hoping you’d sit on my face, before all of this stuff happened.”

“Aw,” Abigail cooed, petting his hair, “Ain’t you sweet? But that’s not what I have planned for you right now.”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” John quickly offered, her honeyed voice making him easily fall right into place.

Then, her grip tightened on his hair, and she tugged just enough to make him shiver. “I know you will,” She said ominously, leaving him hanging on her every word.

Luckily for him, she didn’t leave him waiting long. She pulled her tank top off over her head, tossing it somewhere unseen.

All she had to do was quirk an eyebrow and he was hurriedly taking his pants and underwear off. His pupils were blown, eyes tracking her every moment.

She reached between them, where his cock was standing at attention, hard and warm. She pumped her hand slowly, listening as he quietly gasped and grunted at the contact. He was flushed underneath her, pink down to nearly his chest.

She wanted to draw out this moment, capture the moment mentally. “You like this, don’t you?” She asked, although it wasn’t really a question.

“Yeah— yes, can you maybe go faster?”

Her lips were centimeters above his, never quite kissing him just to tease. “You want more?” She finally gave him a brief kiss, and he tried to follow her for more. “Beg me for it,”

If there was one thing Abigail loved to hear, it was him begging and pleading.

He swallowed hard, trying to piece together words in his arousal-ridden mind. “Please, please , I want… I need you so bad, please give me more?”

If there was something that Abigail seemingly couldn’t resist, it was him begging and pleading. “Good boy,” she praised, rewarding him with a faster pace.

Try as he might, his hips continued to stutter and jerk in time with her movements. He was so needy, and Abigail loved it so.

She could feel his pre soaking her hand, feeling herself get wetter as he whined and whimpered. “Close. I’m clo— Abi, you’re gonna make me—” his voice was higher than normal, strained as he practically fell apart in her hands.

“Say what I want to hear and maybe I’ll let you cum,” She commanded.

“Mommy,” He finally whined, his voice cracking slightly.

Abigail smiled to herself, pleased. “Yes, John?”

His hips yet again stuttered involuntarily. “Please, can I cum?” He was practically babbling now, so eager for it.

She hummed, pretending to be deep in thought. She gave one last swipe of her thumb across head of his cock, listening in amusement as he let out a garbled string of curses. “No, not yet. I think I should give your dick a little bit of a break, hm?” She reached to his lithe thigh and gave it a short squeeze.

John squeezed his eyes shut, trying to compose himself. “Fuck— I… yes, okay, whatever you want,”

“Tell you what,” Abigail slid off the bed and stood up, finally taking off her underwear. She did so slowly, making sure his focus was on her. “You’ve been so good for me. I think as a reward, I’ll sit on your face,” Well, it was also a reward for her, too, but framing it within the realm of praise always got John going.

“Thank you,” he breathed, eyes never leaving her body.

The look of adoration in his eyes was something she’d never get tired of.

Another thing she’d never get tired of was straddling his face.

If there was one thing John always eagerly participated in, it was eating her out. He knew exactly what to do, tongue never leaving her clit.

John had once described himself — rather smugly, she would add — as a ‘munch’, At the time, she’d rolled her eyes, only for him to live up to the description later that night.

As with most things he did, there was a certain unique grace he brought to the act. He truly loved it, and always tried to get her off as many times as possible. In fact, Abigail was certain that if she didn’t stop him, he’d keep going until his jaw fell off. She’d never known a man who enjoyed it as much as John.

She whimpered his name as he moved quickly with no signs of stopping. The slight scratch of his scruff on her inner thighs always stung so good. Her thighs would likely be pink come morning, but she loved it so. Taking it up a notch, she grinded against his face, her own legs quivering slightly.

That mouth of his could turn her into putty so easily. She tugged at his hair, knowing how much he liked it, but also as an encouragement for him. He moaned, tongue working in hurried motions.

She felt the coil in her stomach tighten. It was then that Abigail decided she’d rather cum with him inside her, so abruptly, she lifted off of his face.

John made a noise of confusion, staring at her with a dazed look in his eyes and lips still shining with her slick.

“I’d much rather cum with you inside me,” she explained, even though she knew she didn’t really owe him an explanation. He’d go along with whatever she wanted.

She moved to straddle his cock, but paused upon closer examination. “Color?” she checked.

He seemed to struggle to gather his thoughts, lust swimming in his eyes. “...Green. Please ride me?” He pawed at her thighs, but she batted him away. She reached in between them and grabbed his cock, pumping him a few times. He was already so sensitive, cock flushed, leaking pre, and aching.

“I think you can ask a little nicer than that, can’t you?” She asked, positioning his cock at her entrance.

He swallowed, making his Adam’s apple bob. “Abi, please, please, ride me? I’ll be so fuckin’ good for you, I—”

She leaned in close, nose touching his. If he wasn’t smart, he’d lean in and kiss her, but he knew better.

“Still missing something, baby. What do you call me?” She straightened, staring him down.

“Mommy,” He corrected himself, voice cracking. “Please ride me, Mommy.”

That was all she needed to hear. “Good boy,” she praised, sinking down on him.

He let out some strangled curses, palms balling into fists. If he was allowed, she knew he’d have his hands on some part of her.

His thighs were tense as she finally rode him. He moaned words of nothingness as she went-up-and-down, hips following her movements.

“I wanna— I need—”

“Aw, you’re close already?” she taunted, feeling like a bit of a hypocrite nonetheless.

He nodded so fast she thought his neck would snap.

Abigail chose to ignore his whining for a few minutes, working them both to the edge. Every stroke brought him right against her g-spot, and she chased that feeling as quickly as possible.

He whimpered her name yet again, finally earning her attention.

Deciding to switch the pace, she grinded on him, kicking his oversensitivity into overdrive.

“Mommy,” he whined incredulously. There were tears brimming in his eyes.

“Speak up, John. I can hardly hear you,” she commanded, a taunt lacing her words.

“I— please, I need…” He was blinking rapidly, trying to keep his crying at bay.

Abigail cupped his cheeks, knowing how he could get when he was overwhelmed. She also knew his tears were indicative of overstimulation, and she’d end his suffering soon enough.

Still, it didn’t stop a small part of her from being spurred on by these tears. “Shh… it’s okay, baby, let it go.” she soothed.

John let out something between a choked gasp and a sob, mind overrun with pleasure.

A part of her felt guilty for letting his tears turn her on— for encouraging this, but he was just so beautiful when he cried for her.

She did slow down the pace a bit, letting him compose himself. She reached up one hand to pet his hair gently. “You’re okay, you’re okay. D’you wanna cum for me?”

He nodded, tears still running down his cheeks. “Please, Mommy,”

Abigail bit back a moan. She didn’t think she’d ever get tired of hearing that come out of his mouth. “Alright, baby. We’ll come together, okay?” Technically, she was doing all the work, but she didn’t mind right now. She placed her right hand on his chest for balance and the left trailed down to grasp his left hand. He clutched it as tightly as he could, needing something to ground himself.

Abigail switched from grinding back to riding, working herself up-and-down on him with a pace that made her world spin, just a little.

His hands flew to her hips in an effort to ground himself. Normally, she’d discourage him from touching her without permission, but they were both so close that she couldn’t really be bothered to care.

He whined her name, canting his hips upward to meet her downward plunge, like he couldn’t bare to have any space between them. He could get so desperate and messy when he was close.

“I’m gonna—” she gasped. She didn’t finish her sentence, though — the next thing she knew, she took a swan dive over the edge. Her release triggered his, and he cried out as the pulse of her walls milked him for all he was worth.

She panted atop of him, sweaty and legs shaking a little.

“...Oh, John,” Abigail cooed after some moments of silence. “You did so well for me,” Abigail purred. He was still clinging to her as if he’d float away. Gently, she pried his hands off of her hips.

He made a wordless noise of complaint (and likely, oversensitivity) as she lifted herself off of him and swung her legs off the bed. “I’ll be right back,” she said gently. John did not reply, instead nodding silently. He looked like he was about to fall asleep.

She padded across the hallway into the bathroom. The sun had long set, bathing the apartment in relative darkness (aside from the light coming from her bedroom). When she flicked on the light, she was greeted with her own disheveled appearance, What was once a somewhat loose ponytail was mostly out of its scrunchie, aside from a few errant hairs still tied up. Her lipstick was messy and half-smeared off, going a little past the borders of her lips. Her entire body was shining with a light sheen of sweat.

She shook her head a little at herself and went back to her task of wetting a washcloth. She turned the tap on warm and got a cloth from underneath the sink, dampening the fabric some. After wringing it out in order to not let it drip, she made her way back to John.

Just as Abigail thought, John was seemingly half-asleep — and it seemed though he hadn’t moved, either. She approached him gently, armed with the washcloth.

She tucked a sweaty flyaway hair behind his ear, “Hey, there. You still with me?”

John’s eyes fluttered open. He hummed the affirmative.

Abigail started by gently wiping the tear tracks off of his cheeks, then moved a bit lower to his mouth, cleaning the slick and cum she had left. After that, she gave him a loving but quick kiss on the lips, one which he reciprocated gladly.

She continued on with her task quietly, cleaning up between his legs and finally hers. Then it was back to the bathroom to put the washcloth over the edge of the sink, zig-zag to the kitchen for two glasses of water, and back to the bedroom.

Abigail placed her glass on the nightstand, and handed him his. He accepted it wordlessly, downing it in a matter of moments.

Satisfied that he was doing fine, she got into bed behind him, correctly surmising that he’d want to be the little spoon. He scooted closer to her, and she wrapped her arms around his narrow waist.

Abigail swept John’s hair out of the way, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “John, sweetheart. Do you feel up to talking?” she asked after a few moments. There were a handful of times where, after a particularly intense scene, John would go quiet for quite a while. Either way, she was ready to offer him whatever he deemed necessary for aftercare.

He was silent for about a minute. “I guess so, yeah,” he answered quietly, his voice noticeably rougher than usual.

She hummed. “Tell me how you’re feeling. Do you need anything?”

“‘M okay,” he replied. “You just wore me out, ‘s all.” he added, making a little bit of smugness bloom in her chest.

She trailed kisses up his neck, leaving the last just below his earlobe, earning a little shiver out of him. “I know I already told you, but you did so well for me.”

John sighed, exhausted. He extricated himself from her grip, turning around to face her. “Thank you,” he replied. “For, y’know, everything. Even the… mommy stuff.” His cheeks reddened yet again.

She leaned in closer to give him a peck on the cheek. “Of course. I told you it doesn’t bother me. In fact, I like it.” To be more specific, she had fantasized about it before, but it had just been idle fantasy. She had no idea how much she’d enjoy it now that it had actually played out.

“You do?” He raised an eyebrow. There was a difference between tolerating something and actively enjoying it.

Abigail giggled. “‘Course I do, you silly man. I wouldn’t be encouraging you to call me that if I was only putting up with it,”

John exhaled, relieved. “God, Abi. Has anyone ever told you that you’re like, kinda perfect?”

This man of hers. It was such a perfectly John compliment. “I think you might be a little biased, but I’ll take it.” This time, when their lips met, it was for a proper, long kiss. Somehow, this lead to her ending up in his arms. He clung to her like she’d fade away if he let go.

“Love you,” he murmured against her temple. Words meant only for her.

It was difficult for the both of them to say it sometimes, but with John, it was almost as if Abigail had no hesitancy in it. “I love you, too, John.”

#im not kidding this is literal pwp + some aftercare. idk it gets pretty soft at the end #john marston #abigail roberts marston #rdr fanfic #red dead redemption fanfiction #rdr fanfiction #john marston x abigail roberts #johnigail #marstongail #vittoria.doc

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ahlulbaytnetworks · 4 months ago

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🍂🥀🍂 Lady Fatimah al-Zahra (sa) After the Prophet’s (S) Martyrdom:

ما زالت بعد أبيها معصبة الرأس باكية العين، محترقة القلب

“After the death of the Prophet (S), she continually wore the scarf of mourning on her head, possessing crying eyes and a burning heart.”1

The sweet period of the Lady of Islam's life quickly came to an end with the death of the Holy Prophet of Islam (even though throughout her lifetime there was no real sweet period, because there were the constant pressures, wars, and plots of the enemies against Islam and the Prophet of Islam (S), taking away her spiritual peace).

With the death of the prophet, new storms of complicated critical events blew up.

The hatred and grudges of Badr, khaibar and Honain that were during the prophet’s time hidden beneath the ashes became visible.

The sects of the “Hypocrites” went to action to take their revenge of Islam and also from the Prophet’s family. Fatimah Zahra (s.a.) was in the center of this circle, of which the poisonous arrows of the enemy flew at her from every direction

Her separation from her father; the sad, tormenting innocence of her husband Ali (a.s.); the plots of the enemy against Islam, and the worry of Fatimah (s.a.) for the future of the Muslims and the Quranic heritage, all joined together, severely straining her pure heart.

Fatimah (s.a.) doesn’t wish to cause Ali (commander of the Faithful) greater grief by relating to him her sadness, because he had already received a severe blow by these unpleasant circumstances and misdeeds created by the people.

For this very reason she would go to the grave of the Prophet (S) and tell him of her grief. And she speaks heart - rendering words that burn our inner soul just like burning embers:

يا أبتاه بقيت و الهةً و حيرانةً فريدة، قد انخمد صوتي و انقطع ظهري و تنغص عيشي

“Father dear, after you, I feel lonely. I have remained perplexed and deprived, my mouth is inclined to silence, and my back is broken, and the wholesome water of life has become bitter to my taste.” 2

And, sometimes she would say:

قُل للمُغيّبِ تَحتَ أطباقِ الثّرى ** انْ كُنتَ تَسمَعُ صَرخَتي وَ نِدائيا

صُبّتْ عَليَّ مَصائِبٌ لَوْ أنَّها ** صُبّتْ عَلى الايَّامِ صِرن�� لَيَالِيا

“The person who smells the pure soil of the grave of Prophet (S), it is only fair that until the end of his life he should smell no other perfume. After you, O’ father, so much suffering has fallen upon me that, if they were to fall upon bright Jays, they would turn into dark, gloomy nights.”

Why does Fatimah (s.a.) shed tears in this way?

Why is she so restless?

Why is she as wild rue on fire, without stability?

Why?!

The answer to these whys must be heard from her own words.

Umm Salamah says:

“When I went to see the Lady of Islam Fatimah (s.a.) after the death of the prophet, and asked her how she was, in reply these meaningful sentences were spoken by her:

أصبحت بين كمد و كرب

فقد النبىِّ و ظلم الوصي

هُتكَ و الله حجابه...

ولكنها أحقاد بدرية

وثارات أحدية

كانت عليها قلوب النفاق مكتمنة

“Why are you asking me how I am Umm Salamah, when I am caught in the middle of much sadness and suffering? On the one hand I have lost my father, the Prophet (S) and on the other hand (I see with my own eyes that) there has been injustice done to his successor, (Ali ibn Abi Talib).

I swear to God that they have torn the curtain of his inviolability (reverence).

But I know that these are the grudges of Badr and the revenges of Uhud, that were hidden in the hearts of the hypocrites (non-believers).”3

All of her defences of the boundaries of the holiness of everything noble and her support of Ali (s.a.) right during this time of pain and suffering are not hidden from anyone. Even though her life after the Prophet of Islam was as brief as she had begged God to be, being not more than two or three months before she rushed to the Holy Presence of God and met her father. However, in this Period of time she didn’t omit any self-sacrificing, generous effort in Ali’s right or for the defence of Islam.

“Peace be upon you, O’ daughter of the Messenger of God.”

🍂🥀🍂 Source 🍂🥀🍂

1. المناقب، ج3، ص362 “Al Manaqeb”, vol. 3 pg. 362

2. “المناقب، ج3، ص362 “Al-Manaqeb” vol.3 pg. 362

3. مناقب ابن شهر آشوب، ج2، ص225 “Manaqeb Ibn Shahr Ashoob”; vol. 2 pg. 225

🍂🥀🍂 al-Islam.org 🍂🥀🍂

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tearsincoffe · 1 year ago

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Zaniedbując Ane ciągle słyszałam od jednej znajomej negatywne inspo. Dosłownie nazwała mnie wielorybem aby za trzydzieści minut przynieść mi obiad z wielkim uśmiechem. Jeszcze była zdziwiona czemu nie jem XDD. Teraz gdy chciałam od niej dostać kubeł zimnej wody powiedziała "ale Ty jesteś szczuplutka" 💀 I swear to God za tą zakłamaną "szczuplutką" nienawidzę jej jeszcze bardziej.

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wolfawaycamp · 8 months ago

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Overstimulated introverts Ryan and Abi finally getting some peace and quiet during camp. Can be platonic or romantic, no preference- just spreading the Abiryan agenda <3

Ryan’s sitting on the grass in the shade below and to the side of the lodge’s porch stairs when the girls step outside. He’s got a sketchbook propped open on his lap and an earbud stuck in one ear, set on a volume that’s much lower than his default in the name of hearing a camper or any other staff member approaching who doesn’t already know he’s retained custody of his phone, unlike all the rest of the counselors; even so, the bass is successful at drowning out the incessant chatter of a thousand bugs screaming as the sun began to set on a warm July evening.

It’s precisely that low volume that allows him to hear the voices approaching; one high and loud and theatrical in such a way that means it can only possibly belong to Emma. That fact means that it’s also practically a no-brainer that the second voice — similarly high in pitch, but much softer and quieter in volume — is Abi, even if he hadn’t had the familiarity to place it immediately.

Discreetly, he slips the earbud out of place and tucks it out of sight under the collar of his topmost shirt where no one will be able to see it. It’s not that he intends on eavesdropping or anything; moreso just the fact that Emma, out of all the possible options, would certainly not keep her mouth shut if she saw him with contraband devices. And while he’s reasonably certain that his shady retreat is still out of sight, he also knows Emma well enough by now to be familiar with her freakish talent for picking up on things she shouldn’t actually know about… like where Ryan’s gone to be left alone, or who likes who, or where to sit to perfectly avoid getting caught in the crossfire of Dylan and Jacob’s prank battle. (Ryan certainly doesn’t share that innate gift; it’s been three weeks and sometimes he still spots little specks of craft glitter washing out of his hair in the shower.)

Thankfully his assumption of going unseen is correct, for he goes unnoticed for a good ten minutes in the shadows of the stairs while the girls chatter on above him, which he’s perfectly happy to try his absolute best to tune out even without the aid of his music. Even so, he’s aware enough of the conversation going on above that he notices when there’s a sharp decrease in the noise level.

Curious, his head cocks a little to the side as he listens a tiny bit more intently as footsteps cross the porch, before the sound of the lodge doors admitting someone back inside. Then, more closely than before — right at the porch railing just above his spot — there’s a weary sigh.

“Finally,” Abi huffs.

There’s so much unexpected ire in her voice that it punches a loud snort out of him, completely unbidden, and even ducking his head does nothing to prevent being discovered. Abi jolts a little on the porch with the tiniest of gasps, head whipping down at break-neck speed to stare down at Ryan with comically large eyes.

“Oh my god!” she squeaks. “Ryan! I- I didn’t mean that like—”

The girl stops short, seemingly lost for words, but her eyes are cutting rapidly back and forth between his seated position and the doorway Emma just disappeared through. He doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know what she’s thinking: holy shit holy shit please don’t tell Emma I said that she’ll be so hurt—

Plus or minus the swears, maybe. But then again: who really knew what Abi’s internal voice sounded like?

“It’s fine, Abi,” he tries to reassure, but she’s still too flustered.

“I— I just meant— it’s been so loud all day today and I just wanted some peace and quiet for once and she just wouldn’t stop going on and on about how Jacob did this and Jacob did that—”

“Abi,” he cuts in, earning another wide-eyed stare as she halts abruptly. “Really, it’s fine, I get it. Why do you think I’m sitting down here?”

It’s this point that finally seems to knock her out of the instinctual panic response at being caught expressing a less-than-strictly-positive thought about another person, and a friend and coworker at that. The girl wavers for a few moments, waffling in indecision and chewing her lip anxiously before she finally seems to make a decision, one that sees her descending the stairs until she’s in the open bit of shade just to the side of Ryan.

“Do you… mind if I crash your hiding spot?”

He glances up from his sketchbook. Abi’s cautiously pulling one of her own as well as a set of multicolored pencils out of the satchel on her shoulder, still eyeing him a bit worriedly.

“Go for it,” he offers, nodding to the empty space.

She takes the offer. And finally, finally, after ten peaceful minutes of sketching with no words exchanged, the tension in her body seems to drain away completely. The two of them are sat there for hours, just barely touching shoulder to shoulder in companionable silence outside of the gentle scratching of their pencils and the dull chatter filtering through lodge windows that somebody opened for fresh air, until some point late in the evening when Nick comes looking for the pair of them with the last two brownies he had saved from the ravenous masses in the dining hall.

🐦‍⬛

Hope you like!! Thanks for the request <3

#the quarry #ryan erzahler #abigail blyg #abiryan #precanon #crowe

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